


Legends Yet

by Keyblader41996



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2020-04-12 07:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19127275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keyblader41996/pseuds/Keyblader41996
Summary: Platonic Bal/Fran!  Set several years into Balthier and Fran's partnership, but several years before the events of FFXII.Balthier and Fran's last excursion into the Archadian palace went horribly wrong despite their near infamous reputation, so when they receive a tip about a more legendary and valuable item - an item that has Dr. Cid intrigued - Balthier can't resist. The two sneak into an exclusive high-society party at the palace to get it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so in love with Balthier and Fran and their partnership! This is an idea that has been with me for quite a long time, that I'm just now getting around to working on! 
> 
> Leave a comment if you have the time, and thanks so much for reading!  
> ~Keyblader

Balthier hated running.

"There! After them!"

He looked over his shoulder and saw that the small group of five fully-armored Imperial guards had turned into a small pack of nine or ten. He pressed harder, the air stinging his eyes and throat. His lungs burned, his side ached in a crippling cramp that he ignored.

"Stop! Now!"

He hated running. Running meant he was close to being caught. Running meant he made a rookie mistake somewhere along the line - a mistake that was beneath his tact and skill by that point in his pirating career. Perhaps he and Fran had left a trail, or made a noise, or did something to alert a guard that something was off. Either way, they needed to get away.

He and Fran stampeded down the halls of the Archadian palace that he remembered as a boy. The same halls where Doctor Cid had kept him sheltered, primping and pampering and tailoring him into the Judge Magister he was always supposed to be. He looked again, and saw that three more guards had joined the fray, clanking in their metal cans behind them. Their chances of escape dwindled before his eyes with every additional, but he refused to believe it. They just had to get  _out_.

"Stop now, or we will shoot!"

A chill ran down the back of his neck, as though anticipating the hail of bullets and arrows. "I - hate - running!" he huffed to Fran, perfectly in-step next to him. After several years together, he didn't even have to look to know that her nearly silent feet were next to him, but he still craned his neck up, looking past her shoulder and up into her sharp and determined features. She noted his complaint with a side-long glance of one of her rust colored eyes, but did not answer, her own breath coming short and tight.

"This is now a federal offense! Ffamran Mied Bunansa, you are ordered to surrender immediately! This is your last warning!"

"Don't they care about -  _you_ at all, Fran?" he quipped through his panting.

"How much farther?" Fran asked, ignoring his joke.

"The door's coming up on our left! My count: three - two -"

A single pistol shot rang out, and the bullet ripped through the back of Balthier's shirt, _snapping_ into the flesh of his arm. He screamed, his arm slumped down, useless, and he stumbled, but Fran's claws dug into the collar of his shirt and she hoisted him up. She threw all of her weight into the left wall and the hidden panel folded away. It swept open into a hidden passageway, so forcefully the door bounced back and hit Fran's shoulder. Fran hauled him inside despite his sounds of pain and kicked it closed behind her.

The stinging was nearly unbearable, and tears sprang to Balthier's eyes immediately. He felt several streams of blood running down his arm. His shirt was quickly becoming soaked with it, and he cradled his arm to his chest tightly. Each brush of the fabric on his skin created new waves of pain that stung down his whole arm, and he groaned. "Of course I was shot," he hissed, doubling over to catch his breath while clutching the useless arm. "I. hate. running," he said again. Perhaps she hadn't heard him over the shouting, or the running, or whatever else in the Espers' names they sent after them. Fran didn't answer, and Balthier looked back to see if she was injured. "Are you alright?"

She finished the spell under her breath and cast it on the door, right as the metal clanking of the palace guards' shoes reached the door and pounded on the other side. The Stone spell enveloped and solidified it, sealing the cracks and turning it into a solid wall.

"Are you injured?" he asked again, and she shook her head.

"I am not. The spell will keep them busy, but we cannot stay," she said, chest heaving from their narrow escape. "Where will this passage take us?"

"An alleyway at the base of the palace."

"But not out of the city proper?" Fran questioned.

"Beggars can't be choosers," he growled, the pain of his wound already making him irritable. "If you'd rather go back the way we came and face the Imperials, be my guest." With his uninjured arm, Balthier wiped away the sweat trickling down his forehead. "Let's go." They had to hurry, or the guards would put the entire palace on lockdown. Guards would be everywhere along the walls, and they would never be able to escape. "Can you heal this while we walk?"  As they had done countless times in their partnership.

"We should remove the bullet first-"

"Of course," he said, rolling his eyes. It was just his luck. The mission was botched, they never even got the treasure they were after, and he was shot with no chance of immediate aid.

The passage was too narrow for them to walk side-by-side, so Fran conceded the lead to Balthier. He jogged down the steady slope as fast as he dared, but each step and shift of his weight tugged at the wound, and he hugged the left side to avoid hitting his arm. Fran grunted in discomfort, and he peeked behind him to see her ducking. Her ears brushed the low ceiling, and her legs and arms were far too long to be moving in such a tight space. For once she looked awkward and clumsy, but Balthier would never have said that about her in their two-year partnership. He was more than awkward on too many occasions to count.

They navigated the tight twists and turns until finally, a small light arced around the shape of another door. "Yes!" Balthier cheered, picking up his pace as the cavern opened up around them to accommodate the door. He grabbed the latch and tugged as hard as he could, but impaired as he was with one arm, he couldn't get the door to budge. He reset and tried again, but the rusted hinges didn't even groan. "Ugh! Fran, if you please?" He edged to the side and let her through, protecting his arm as she moved.

Fran placed both hands on the latch rung, and leaned all of her weight back as hard as she could. For good measure, she planted her heeled foot next to the door jamb and tugged, muscles straining under the door's resistance. Finally, it groaned open, dropping crumbs of dirt, dust, and plaster on them. Fran poked her head out, glancing both ways down the alley where Balthier said they would emerge. When she determined the coast was clear, she waved him forward.

"Where are we?"

"Alley in the Tsenoble District," Balthier grumbled. He started to roll his sleeve up to inspect the damage, but Fran stopped him.

"Not here. We need to get away."

"It _hurts_ ," he whined. One of her eyebrows lifted, and he knew from the deadpanned look she gave him that she wouldn't hear any more of his protests. Balthier sighed and started walking down the alleyway to the right. "This way," he said. "That other way leads to a dead end." While they walked, he poked and prodded at his arm, trying to assess the damage. He could feel the bullet scraping against flesh and bone, and each time it did it brought hot tears to his eyes, but he blinked them away.

"You'll make it worse," Fran said, but he ignored her.

The end of the alley opened into the busy courtyard outside the palace's front gate. Just before the two of them emerged, Balthier paused to clean himself up. He sniffled thickly, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe away the dirt and sweat that accumulated on his face and neck. He combed through his hair and made sure it stood just as perfectly as it did before. "Walk with a purpose, Fran. We need to look like we belong here with a reason." He slowly lowered his injured arm to his side, gritting his teeth, and the blood that collected in the crook of his elbow poured out his sleeve and down his fingertips. "Damn," he cursed.

"I'll heal you when we escape this part of the city," Fran assured him distantly. Her alert eyes stayed locked on the crowds walking through the courtyard. Her ears swiveled as she took in every detail - the people idling outside, the potted plants, tables, and barrels that could get in their way, the closest alleyways that could be used for escape routes, assuming they weren't dead ends.

"Ready?"

"Yes," she said.

Balthier stepped out into the crowd, and he and Fran waded through like sharks in water. People stared at the blood on his shirt, bright red and obviously fresh, but Balthier held his head high and paid them no attention. They stared at Fran as well, as they usually did at a tall Viera, but Balthier watched for any that lingered longer than what was normal. Her ears were nearly flat against her head - either she was tense, or was trying to hide them. The palace loomed behind them, and Balthier felt its presence stretching over his back. He felt the eyes of guards, the eyes of people, boring holes into him. He tasted adrenaline, making his heart flutter and his fingers twitch. He resisted the urge to split, trying to remain as calm as possible. They were crossing the middle of the courtyard when someone behind them yelled.

"There he is! I see him!"

Balthier whirled around to see who was yelling and about what, and he looked up the palace walls and saw him. A guard, pointing wildly in their direction.

"There he is! I see the fugitive! White shirt, black pants! The Viera! He's been shot!"

"After him!" someone else yelled, and all of the guards guarding the front gate poured into the crowd. They pushed civilians left and right to make their way to them. "You there! Stop!"

"Time to go!" Balthier said, and Fran took off with him, perfectly in sync. The two of them were much more nimble than the guards, but still they had trouble fighting the crowd. Balthier's arm was getting jostled by people and by his own doing as he cut and weaved through them, and blinding-white spots of pain danced across his vision. After what seemed like forever, he and Fran emerged on the other side. The guards were still following, though he had no way of knowing if they still had a visual. "This way," Balthier said, darting to his right.

Fran followed him down the street, past expensive storefronts and people in fancy Archadian clothing, gasping as they propelled by. The clamor of boots, swords, shouts, and an alarm raised back near the palace followed after them. All of the streets of Tsenoble led to only one place.

"We need to lose them before we get to the skyferry!" Balthier yelled. "We'll be trapped there on the loading dock if we don't!"

"How are we going to get down to Old Archades?" Fran asked. "This entire part of the city is elevated!"

"I hate _running_ ," he whined. "You know what they say about crossing bridges when we get there." He was forced to turn another corner and dart to his left, and Fran followed after. Each street they passed, each twist and turn twisted in his gut as he knew they drew closer and closer to a dead end. He quickly tried to come up with a way to escape - perhaps commandeer a ferry, or get lucky and simply ask the ferryman to take them to Old Archades on the off-chance that he wasn't aware they were running.

His side started to ache again, and so did his arm, and when Fran's natural stride pushed her ahead of him, he knew he was slowing down. The blood loss was starting to get to him, he knew, if the white creeping into the sides of his vision was telling.

He resolved to get to the ferry and figure out what to do from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I commissioned the artist Vhyrel for the absolutely beautiful piece at the beginning of this work! They can be found on tumblr, instagram, patreon, and a bunch of social media, which I'll link here:
> 
> https://vhyrel.tumblr.com/ - Tumblr  
> https://www.etsy.com/shop/vhyrel - Etsy  
> https://www.pixiv.net/member.php?id=14216106 - Pixiv  
> https://www.deviantart.com/vhyrel - Deviantart  
> https://twitter.com/vhyrel - Twitter  
> https://www.instagram.com/vhyrel/ - Instagram  
> https://www.patreon.com/vhyrel/posts - Patreon  
> https://ko-fi.com/vhyrel - Ko-fi
> 
> If you like what you see give them a follow on anyone of those!
> 
> If you have the time, leave a comment!  
> ~Keyblader


	2. Chapter 2

The Tsenoble streets were abuzz with gentle curiosity over the rare blaring of the palace alarm. Some people questioned their friends, some stopped and stared and pointed at the palace, asking around to find out who knew what. Balthier felt his muscles tense as they passed every single person. Word didn't quite travel  _that_ fast, and yet he was waiting for someone to recognize them as the fugitives and call out to the guard. Especially since they were flat out running. All pretenses of inconspicuousness were abandoned, but luckily the news of who the guards were looking for or where they had gone hadn't reached the docks of the skyferry when they piled out of the streets and onto the landing pad.

There was a crowd already waiting to board, arced in a cramped semi-circle around the entrance. They waved papers and chops in the air and called out to the attendant, hoping for quicker passage. Balthier tore through them all, shoving and jostling them out of the way. The lone guard to the right of the boarding ramp stepped forward to stop them, but a well-placed kick to his chestplate from Fran had him on the ground.

Balthier leapt up the ramp in three long strides with Fran right behind him. He was too tired to try this with any kind of flair or presentation that their reputation deserved. He ripped the pistol from his belt with his good arm and stepped on to the tiny ferry. The disinterested pilot didn't even turn to look at them. "We ain't boardin' yet, ser-" he called, but froze when Balthier placed the barrel of the gun to the back of his neck.

"Off the ferry," he said. " _Now_."

"What?" the ferryman chuckled, probably in disbelief. "Just who the 'ell do you think you are, eh-?"

" _Rrgh!"_ Balthier growled, nudging him with the gun and pulling the safety. "The skypirate Balthier, at your service!" Balthier knew from the way his shoulders jumped in surprise that he was familiar. Everyone in Archadia was, by that point. Already stories were circulating about the legendary pirates, Balthier and Fran. Balthier and Fran, who had stolen a prototype airship from right under the palace's nose; who had defeated entire legions of guards together on the ground and entire fleets in the air; who thwarted headhunters left and right; and whose bounty could finance anyone's way straight to the top of Archadia.

The ferryman craned his neck over his shoulder, eyes locking on Balthier. He knew he probably didn't look the part at the moment. He sported a clear gunshot wound on his shoulder that was bleeding profusely, there was pain and exhaustion and sweat on his pale face instead of a playful smirk, and panic sat thick in his eyes. The man's eyes roved next to Fran, tall and imposing next to him. Her ears brushed against the ceiling of the craft making her look even taller, and the angry scowl on her face caused the ferryman's eyes to widen.

"And my accomplished first mate, Fran," Balthier continued, gesturing to her with his uninjured arm, the one holding the gun. "We're commandeering your ship. If you don't want to be shot, you'll kindly exit the craft." The ferryman slowly put his arms up to his sides, raising himself from the pilot's seat.

Balthier grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, guiding him to the door of the ferry. "Those alarms for the pair of ye?" the ferryman asked on their way.

"Perhaps. Move."

The sounds of the guards they lost in the palace courtyard reached the dock. Balthier could hear  _clangs_ and shouts, and people gasping as they were violently pushed through for the second time. He edged the man to the ferry's door and Fran roughly pushed him out, sending him straight over the boarding ramp and right onto the cluster of guards. Balthier saw them all go down in a tangle of browns and silvers before she slammed the door shut. He slumped weakly into the pilot's seat, exhaustion weighing his body down.

"Now what?" she asked.

"I have a plan, okay? Just let me . . . " he trailed off.

He sat up in the seat and inspected the control panel, reading gauges and meters and testing the sensitivity of the wheel. Fran stood over his shoulder and surveyed it as well. She pointed to three switched for the glossair rings and flipped them all at once. The engine hummed with greater power, and the craft vibrated slightly underneath them while the rings resisted gravity and lifted it up off the dock. Balthier grabbed the accelerator to the right of the wheel, wincing from the tug on his arm, and called out, "Hold on!"

He pushed the accelerator as far up as it could go, and he and Fran both braced for the sudden and violent lurch they were used to from the Strahl. Instead there was a tiny tugging sensation, more like a weak wobble, and the city began to crawl past the windshield of the ferry.

"You can't be serious!" he moaned. "Fran, send more power to the glossair rings."

"It only has three power levels. All are at full capacity."

Balthier cursed, pounding on the steering wheel with his good arm. He pulled back on the accelerator and the little ship cruised to a stop. Outside, the guards had recovered and they ran alongside the edge of the dock to beat their weapons and fists against the backside and undercarriage of what they could reach of the vessel. He looked to Fran, lifting his eyebrows and shrugging his uninjured shoulder. " _Any ideas?_ " his look said, and Fran shook out her hair. A dismissive no. Balthier sighed tiredly, rubbing his face.

For the first time he could remember since he and Fran teamed up, surrender was starting to look more and more like their only option, and he tasted its bitterness in the back of his throat. They had been captured before, to be sure, but it had always been by force and after a hell of a fight on their part. And they had always escaped, sometimes by his cunning and sometimes by Fran’s, which only added to the air of awe and mystery that followed their names. They had never surrendered, and the worst part about it would be surrendering in Archadia.

Balthier could picture the parade through the city and palace, with his hands clasped in front of him in chains. People would be allowed to see the legendary skypirates brought low. A trial by judge would follow, people he knew and trained with, in the presence of Emperor Gramis and his father - muttering over his shoulder and glaring with disdain and disappointment.

Fran’s ears suddenly perked up, and she whirled around, running down the narrow aisle between the seats to the very back of the passenger cabin. "I've got something. Just fly, and keep flying!" she called over her shoulder to Balthier. She began to tap her foot against the carpet, delicate ears twisting and swiveling to hear whatever she needed to hear.

Balthier pushed the accelerator again and fully cleared the landing pad, maneuvering the craft as fast as it could go to the end of the skystreet. He heard the _schink_ of a knife tearing free of its scabbard, and as he glanced over his shoulder he saw Fran kneel down and dig it into the carpeted floor. She ran it along and the harsh shuffling of tearing reached his ears. She grabbed a corner that she cut and pulled, ripping up a perfect square to reveal a latch tucked into the hidden metal floor of the ship. She pulled the latch and a hatch door flipped open, slamming back down against the floor. She scooched her legs into the compartment and was gone a second later.

"Fran, what are you doing?"

"Just fly!"

"You know I trust you, my dear, but  _what are you doing_?"

At the end of the skystreet Balthier turned a clumsy right corner, twirling one arm around the wheel as fast as he could. The ship refused to tilt at all, designed for rounding turns rather than banking, and the left side of the craft screeched against the side of a building, breaking brick and metal. He finished the turn and corrected, barely dodging other ships coming in the other direction. However, an unrelated patrol cruiser immediately veered away from the opposing traffic and looped around, chasing them from his illegal maneuver. The newest siren blared, louder and louder, adding to the palace's mix.

"Fran?"

He didn’t hear her answer, if she even did answer. He scanned the control panel once again for anything that could help. Any kind of boost, or extra power supply. The ship behind them overtook them pathetically, and he realized how spoiled they were with the Strahl and all her modifications. Back and front thrusters for quick changes in direction, additional glossair rings, booster fuel, _guns-_

"Balthier!" he heard, just barely. Her voice sounded muffled and quiet, as though she was yelling straight into a wall. He couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from, just somewhere underneath him.

"What?"

"Drop the accelerator down to zero, and do  _not_ touch it again until I say so!" she called, her Woodland accent coloring the words.

"Fran, I’ve already got one patrol cruiser on my ass, and I’ll have the palace’s entire defense fleet on my ass in a few minutes!"

"Just do it!"

He let go of the wheel to clutch the accelerator and threw it back towards him, and the ship once again coasted to a gentle stop. The ship behind him stopped as well. A single spotlight beamed down on them from its belly, and a loudspeaker called out to him over the alarms.

"Land and disembark at once!"

"Fran, tell me when!"

"Not yet!"

From on ahead, an official ship of the palace, marked with the signet of House Solidor, emerged from around the intersection, the tips of its wings nearly scraping the buildings. It squared itself to them.

"This vessel and all of its occupants are being seized by the palace guard under federal charges of trespassing, burglary, robbery and larceny! You are also under suspicion of additional felony charges! Land and disembark immediately, or surrender your airship for boarding!"

"Fran?"

The patrol cruiser behind them drifted lower and lower until they were level with each other. It shifted closer and closer, blocking their escape backwards, and the waves of power from its glossair rings violently rocking their little dinghy. At the same time, a door on the side of the palace ship in front of them slid open, and the long shaft of a huge gun protruded out. It swiveled and aimed right at the windshield. Right at Balthier.

Right at Balthier’s uninjured shoulder.

"Fran!"

A violent beeping erupted from three different parts of the control panel, and everywhere there was a red light suddenly flared. It was all the warning Balthier had before all power to the glossair rings shut down and the engine cut. The vibrating stopped, all lights in the cab went out, and the little ship plummeted straight for the ground.

"FRAN!" Balthier yelled, but then his heart was lifted up into his throat as gravity caught the ship. Everything in the ship that wasn't pinned down lifted from their places in a frightening moment of weightlessness, and Balthier swore he felt the seat of his pants lift off the pilot's seat. Then everything slammed back down. They dropped beneath the range of both ships, the gun on the palace ship fired, and a spear-pointed grappling hook shot out towards the spot where they had been. It pierced into the patrol cruiser instead, cutting through the metal like butter and instantly tethering the two together.

Balthier held onto the wheel with his left arm and grit his teeth against the pain as he reached up and gripped the accelerator with his injured arm. The blood on his hands made the little T-shaped lever slick, and he lost his grip over and over again. The buildings rose up on either side of the skystreet around them as they nosedived, and Balthier felt the threatening end-over-end flip coming on as the ship lost all equilibrium. People on the streets below of the Archadian districts began yelling at the ship. They dove out of the way left and right, men and women held onto hats and parasols, guards waved swords or barked obligatory orders.

The cold stone street coming closer and closer, and Balthier pictured both the smashing of the windshield and the smashing of his body into concrete. He closed his eyes when, at the last moment, the lights on the panel flickered once, twice, back to life. The rings re-engaged, and Balthier's brain and heart were dumped back into his stomach from the g-force. The little ship groaned in resistance, and for a terrifying second he thought the little glossair rings wouldn't be enough to stop the freefall. Then, the little ship reached a standstill only feet from the street.

"NOW!" Fran yelled from the compartment.

Balthier threw the weight of his shoulder into the accelerator as though it would make it go faster, the bullet grinding away at his flesh. The ship blasted forward, feeling more like the thrust of a modified hybrid ship than a ferry - just like the Strahl. He was slammed back against the seat, but was clutching the wheel so tightly that the ship turned violently to the left, soaring under the belly of the palace craft and barreling around the tight turn at the intersection. The Imperial Defense tried to follow, but the cable tethered to the patrol cruiser snapped taut. Both ships resisted each other, but the Defense eventually overpowered the smaller cruiser, tugging it along like a reluctant child. That was all Balthier saw before the maze of buildings swallowed them up.

At an upcoming intersection, he received the signal to stop, but he drove the ferry forward, desperate to put more space between them. The red light flashed faster and faster, but Balthier passed straight through the middle of it. Gliders stopped. Horns blared. Airships swerved and crashed, but they made it through.

He took twists and turns at random, easing the steering wheel in to lower it down with every district and level of the city they passed. He heard shuffling underneath his feet and felt a few less than gentle bangs and a few harsh words, then the shuffling drifted to the back of the craft. When he was confident they were in the clear for the time being, he glanced over his shoulder to the hole Fran disappeared into. After a second, her black-speckled ears emerged up from the floor, then her head popped up. Her white hair was dusted grey with cobwebs and dirt, and one small piece was singed and burnt. Her hands were covered in grease and whatever else, and she looked up at Balthier, huffing and wiping sweat from her brow.

"Well done, Fran!" he said. "What did you do?"

"I cut the electrical supply to both the cab and all unnecessary features, and rerouted it to the glossair power lines and fuel lines." Balthier looked around and realized that only the emergency lights were on in the cab. "The volatility of the live wires mixed with the conductivity of the power and fuel, and provided a boost in engine power. It will not win any races, but it is at least faster now."

"Yes, it flies more like a fighter prototype now, like the Strahl. That being said, we'll never outrun them in open air so I'm trying to use the city as cover." He pushed in on the steering wheel some more and their little ship floated further and further down. The skystreets grew narrower and narrower until he was flying through crevices not meant to be streets at all. He was forced to drop the accelerator down several clicks. "You know something?"

"Yes?"

" . . . It’s not easy being this popular, is it?"

Fran didn’t immediately answer, and he turned around to see a small smile on her face at their own little ongoing joke. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "No, indeed," she said lightly. The entire mood of doom and dread lifted with that small display of emotion from her. Balthier allowed himself to smile, finally feeling as though they got away.

With that thought, all of the adrenaline seemed to bleed from his body at once. His injured arm slid from its position on the dashboard and flopped weakly into his lap, leaving a long trail of blood. The bullet scraped against his collarbone. He no longer had the energy to lift it again. He sank down and rested his back against the pilot's chair, leaning his head back and closing his burning eyes. He reached over and clutched at his wounded shoulder, groaning low from the pain. He hissed a breath in through his teeth and let it out slowly. "We make a good team, in case you doubted it for a second there," he told her.

"What was your plan?"

"Hm?" he asked.

"You said earlier you had a plan. What was it?"

"Oh! Aaaah . . . " he trailed off, and Fran saw his eyes in the reflection of the windshield flicker above his head. "At that time, it was ‘escape'." He shifted his weight in the chair, which she knew was his tell. She stared at him, with some emotion he couldn't place. It could have been surprise, from her slow blinking, that they escaped when he had no plan, or perhaps it was admiration for his great piloting and obvious poise under pressure. Or it could have just been a dumbstruck look, that they managed to survive a chase with their little ferry piloted by a one-armed nineteen year old with zero shreds of a plan.

He also swore he saw a flash of playful regret for ever partnering up with him and remaining partnered with him for three years. Questioning her life choices.

"We have a saying among the Viera," she eventually said, and then she spoke a phrase in her archaic Woodland tongue. "It means, ‘In the absence of good ideas, bad ideas are always reasonable.’"

"Welp! I’ve got an even worse idea for ditching our new ride. Gods, I miss the Strahl. I miss the dual rings and the thrusters and the way she cuts the air and actually BANKS like a real airship and-" He sighed wistfully, like a man in love. "How good is your Float magic?

"I know the Technick."

"We're going to need it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter! Thanks so much for reading, and if you have the time don't forget to leave a comment! <3
> 
> ~Kayblader41996


	3. Chapter 3

Fran knew better than to question Balthier's piloting skills by then. In their three years together, he had demonstrated that he was more than capable on more than one occasion. When they teamed up to steal the Strahl, they were chased out of an active Archadian hangar. To angle their ship properly to escape, he had to circle the hangar several times, dodging both parked ships and mid-flight ships. Once, they located an abandoned temple to the minor god Khalilah in Rozzaria, and upon taking the treasure, Balthier tripped a trap that collapsed the entire structure. He safely navigated the Strahl out with falling rocks and debris raining down on them. Just now, he was chased out of the city in a modified _ferry_. He had her respect as a pilot.

His planning skills, however, were another matter entirely. She didn't bother asking him to elaborate on his 'idea' to abandon the ferry. All she assumed was that if it involved his piloting, she was fairly confident that his skill could be enough.

He trailed their little vessel down to the elevation levels considered Old Archades, and Fran watched the buildings change around them. The stone grew old, fragile, and discolored. Some homes and buildings were already crumbling in disuse, with windows boarded up and ivy hanging thick on their faces. Grass and other foliage crawled between the cobblestones and mortar as nature reclaimed what was built on top of her and then abandoned.

Fran began to see shapes moving down below, looking less and less like indistinguishable specks and more like people out and about, walking and talking in less than the finest clothes. They couldn't have bothered with their little ship even if they spotted it.

Balthier squeezed between the buildings until they suddenly opened up below. They had reached what looked like a town square of sorts, with tents and stalls and a huge crowd of many, many people. What could best be described as a flea market stretched out through the length of the square.

"The Old Archades Commons," Balthier said. "There are always a lot of people here, either buying or idling, which makes it the perfect place to get lost."

For a better view, Fran threw the door of the ferry open, straining from the wind resistance. As soon as it locked in place she leaned against the door frame and peered down below, trying to find a good place to drop down.

"I know many places to hide - either in plain sight or otherwise," Balthier continued. "I would run away from my father to the Commons, or patrol in my short tenure as a Judge." Balthier pulled back on the accelerator and the ferry trailed to a lurching stop from Fran's modifications. He grabbed his shoulder and held it still as he lowered his arm into his lap. His shirt was soaked through with blood and clung to his body, wet with crimson stains on his back, shoulder, and entire right arm. "I'd love to be on the ground so I can have this taken care of. Do you have anything to tie the wheel with?"

"Tie it?"

"Right before we jump I'm going to raise her up - just to the Trant district elevation - and push the accelerator so she flies and crashes somewhere up there. She pulls a bit to the left, and I need her to fly straight overtop of these buildings. The guard, if they can even _get_ down here to search the wreckage, won't find us. They'll assume we left the city."

"We're  _not_ leaving the city? After this travesty?"

"Not  _yet_ , no. I'll try as many times as it takes to get into that palace treasury."

Fran knew she didn't have anything on her person for the wheel, but as she looked around the cabin to the overhead compartments, she saw the braided cable stretched from one section to the next to hold people's belongings in place. She took the same knife she used earlier to cut the carpet and cut a sizeable length of cord, bringing it to the front and handing it over to Balthier.

He muttered his thanks and pulled back on the steering wheel, allowing the ship to lift straight up. The sunlight grew brighter and brighter as they lost the cover of Old Archades, and as they cleared the last structure the light poured directly into their ferry. Balthier shielded his eyes before spinning the ship around and facing the distant Trant disctrict. He stepped out from behind the wheel and took the cord to wrap around the right handle of the wheel. He tethered it to the armrest of the pilot's seat so it wouldn't pull. Fran listened carefully through the open door for any sirens or alarms, but she could no longer hear anything. Either they called off the search, or turned off the alarm because the immediate dangers were gone.

Balthier joined her at the door, ducking down to peer under her arm. He leaned out and looked down to the dizzying sight of the market below.

"Right," he said. "So, how does Float magick work?"

The words sank in to Fran's mind, and she was so caught off-guard, she couldn't immediately think of what to say. Surely he was joking. It was his own plan, and he didn't know? She leveled an incredulous look towards him, waiting for the punchline, or the 'gotcha!' Realizing there was none, she inhaled deeply through her nose. "I liked it better when you had no plan," she muttered. "The Float magick works like an elevated floor to protect from Geological damage. It will lift us several inches from the ground, and we will use that to jump down and avoid damaging ourselves in the fall. I recommend we jump down from building to building in case the spell fails."

"In case it fails? In case we become bugs to an airship window."

"Precisely."

" . . . I didn't think  _that_ was a possibility."

"That is because you rarely think." His head snaps towards her, a nasty retort prepared on his lips, but she cut him off. "I kid." He closed his mouth and she continued. "Though, you are reckless."

"All the best are, aren't they?"

"Perhaps, but we'll have to work on your presentation," she joked again. "Recklessness only looks impressive when you don't flounder about."

"Well," he stammered awkwardly. "I'm glad what I did worked out, but you know I always hope for it to be . . . flashy."

She could only stare at him again. Balthier always had a streak of cockiness that he carried with him ever since she met him as an immature, sixteen year old Archadian Judge. The wit, the silver tongue, and the smooth voice were natural attributes that he most likely learned how to exploit from a young age, and they initially infuriated her. Coupled with his handsome face and the fact that he knew it, he carried himself as one untouchable. Smooth-talking, lady-killing, with an overall blasé attitude that he amplified easily when they took on pirating. He used it all on their escapades to build their image, and it suited the ideas of infamy and celebrity of 'Balthier' that he dreamed up for himself. He was lucky he had the piloting skills to back it up.

But there were small moments like this when she saw some of his truer colors. A young man whose first and only interactions with the sheltered, small world had been filtered through the cruel and loveless lens of his father's slipping sanity. Forced to feed Dr. Cid's ambitions and the corrupt ambitions of the Empire, he abandoned comfort and status and all that he knew to escape it. Now that he was away from all that and _free_ , he wandered the world in a bit of a directionless daze. Impulsive and impetuous, because he was learning how to interact with the world on his own. He was still learning what worked and what didn't, what he believed in or didn't - both through his own identity and through Balthier's.

Sometimes, she noticed, he looked for respect and approval where she knew he had been denied it before in Archadia.

"Shall we?" he asked, inching closer to the edge of the ferry.

" . . . Is there not a single place to land down here?" Fran asked. "This is not the safest way down."

"None that I would consider safe, either from a mechanical standpoint, or a fugitive standpoint."

"This is not a good idea."

"I would love to prove your little Viera saying wrong, so if you have anything representative of a 'good idea', feel free to offer it up. I think I'm all out at this point. I used them all to get us into the palace and out of that chase. It'll be fine! Just gently float us on down to the streets like pretty little feathers." He wiggled his fingers in the air as the symbol of her magicks and drew it downwards in the air.

"This will hurt," Fran said.

"Not if we land where I think we will. Fran, I grew up here. I know my way around a bit."

"No, I mean this will hurt  _you_. You're wounded, don't forget."

"How could I?" he replied bitterly. "I appreciate your concern, my dear, but I will have to deal until we hit the ground, won't I?"

She shrugged. "Ready?" she asked.

"Not in the slightest." He walked around to her right side so he could offer her his left hand. "So we don't get lost," he said, and offered her a quick wink.

Fran cast the Float spell, and as it planted under their feet and hoisted them up, Balthier wobbled unsteadily, leaning heavily onto her. She steadied him and pointed to the tallest building below them that would be their first landing point. Nearly a fifty foot drop. He nodded, and she offered one last piece of advice. "Try to keep your feet underneath you. When you land, you shouldn't feel any kind of impact." He took the gun in his hand and aimed it at the control panel, shutting one eye. He shot and the bullet _ping_ _ed_ off the accelerator and knocked it forward. The craft lurched, and Fran leapt out of the ferry without any warning, before he could offer any resistance. Not that he would, she thought, considering this was his idea. As they plummeted, his hand tightened around hers, nearly crushing it. Luckily, despite a tiny bit of flailing, he managed to keep his feet underneath him. The building was right under them after only a few weightless seconds. Fran landed in a crouch, and Balthier landed on his feet gracefully, without any of the pain of impact as she said.

Building to building, further and further down into Old Archades, they did their rappel of sorts until they were standing at the stone edge of a structure overlooking a twenty foot drop to the tents and stalls below. Balthier led the way and hopped down, landing on his backside on a stall awning. The wooden support beams at the four corners groaned and wobbled threateningly and the entire stall shook, and Fran heard whatever goods and wares they were selling underneath shake and fall off of their perches. Fran used the remainders of the Float spell to land on her feet next to the stall while Balthier dusted himself off.

He looked into the stall and saw the stall merchant angrily picking things up off the ground. When he saw it was a young woman, he plastered one of his charming smiles onto his face and bent down, picking up a small knick knack that looked like a crystal. He stepped up to her and offered it to her. "I'm so sorry about that. I believe this is yours." He flashed that smile, and she took the item from him. Before they could find out if his charm had any effect, Fran grabbed his shirt and began walking him away from the stall.

"Fran, please-"

"We're currently trying to hide, remember? Where are some of these hiding places that you know so much of?"

He sighed dramatically. "Oh, alright." She let go of his shirt so he could lead, and they waded through the crowd, listening to the normal bustle of a marketplace. Footsteps, sellers shouting, the clink of coins, and angry haggling. The further they went to the center of the marketplace, the more Fran realized how good of a hiding place the Commons were. The disenfranchised of Old Archadia ranged from Humes to Bangaa to Seeqs to Viera. There were even Moogles, and a few rare Urutan-Yensa. Even if she and Balthier were spotted in this crowd, and she highly doubted they would be, the city guard would never be able to push through people fast enough.

Balthier crossed the length of the marketplace, and behind one of the stalls Fran saw a small, dark inlet. The shadows of the buildings plunged it into near complete darkness, but Balthier strode straight down it, clearly intent on something he knew was back there. At the very end of the alleyway, there was a small door on the right hand side - nothing more than an archway with a tattered and thread-bare curtain draped across it. Balthier pushed the curtain aside and they entered the guts and remains of what used to be a nicely furnished home. The paint that had been on the stone walls was peeling to the point where Fran couldn't place what color it had been. The single room had no flooring, just the hard dirt underneath, and a square bale of hay sat against one wall as a makeshift bed or cot of sorts. There was only one window, but as Fran walked to it and moved the curtain, there was no glass or frame there. It was merely a hole cut into the stone. There was nothing to be seen on the other side, just a small space between this house and the next one, not wide enough for a child to fit through.

Balthier walked over to the frame of what was once a plush couch and shifted it to the side. It hid a sizeable hole in the wall where Fran could see boxes and bags of dried food, canteens of water, medical supplies, and an eclectic mix of Potions, Ethers, Elixirs, and other restorative Items. Clearly this was a place where Balthier could have waited out the days away from his father and his duties as a Judge if he needed to. He dug through with his uninjured arm, moving and shifting things around before pulling out a few Potions, one Ether, and a roll of conventional bandages. He tossed them to Fran one by one, and she set them on the ground next to the hay bale.

"Do you have a cleaning cloth also?" she asked. He tossed it to her when he found it.

Balthier sat on the hay bale and gingerly began to remove his shirt. He fit his left arm through first, then lifted it over his head, then trailed it down his right arm to avoid moving it and aggravating it. As soon as it hit the open air, the iron scent of blood permeated the entire room. He discarded his shirt on the ground, and Fran moved closer to inspect the wound, sitting beside him. She touched the back of his shoulder, his skin hot and irritated, and he winced, breathing slowly.

The entry wound on his back was clean, with a perfectly round circle of torn and bloody skin. The bullet carved straight into the soft flesh above his shoulder blade. She used her fingernail to measure it, and it appeared to be a standard twelve millimeter hole, the normal pistol that the guards at the palace carried. She leaned this way and that to get a good look into the hole, and she could see the occasional glint of the silver bullet embedded there in his shoulder.

"I can see the bullet."

"Ah, lovely! I'd love it if you couldn't."

"A shame it didn't tear all the way through. I'll have to remove it, instead of simply healing the skin. Lie down."

He did as he was told, first grabbing his shirt to lay on instead of the rough hay digging into his skin. Once he was settled on his stomach, she took her knife and unsheathed it, dragging the cleaning cloth across it to wipe away the dirt and grime from the ferry. When it was clean, she dug the tip into the tiny hole, and Balthier sucked in a breath, holding it quickly to quiet a sound of pain. She met resistance in his skin, and had to roughly push a few times as hard as she dared so she wouldn't outright stab him. He lightly jerked with each push, though she knew he wasn't doing it on purpose. Still, she braced her hand against his back and pressed him flat into the hay, holding him still. She felt the blade tap against the bullet, and she levered it to the side. With a tiny sucking sound the bullet popped free, out into her hand.

"It's out."

"Yaaaaaay," he moaned dully, the noise swallowed by the hay.

The blood that had been stoppered by the bullet immediately began to well up, and Fran grabbed the roll of bandages, pressing a length to the wound to try and soak some of it up. She swiped at it a few times and cast a Curaga directly into the wound. The deepest layers of his skin sealed together, and he sighed in almost instant relief.

"That already feels better." She held a Potion out to him, dangling it in front of his face, and he took that as his cue to sit up. He drained the Potion and the wound glowed a healthy green, looking less irritated and red. Fran cast another Curaga on him, and when they were finished it looked like nothing more than a bad scratch and a nasty bruise. Fran took an Ether to replenish her magic while Balthier eventually crossed the room and drenched a cloth in water to clean himself of all the blood.

"Think this is salvagable?" he asked, holding up his old shirt.

"Not at all," Fran said.

"Good thing I've got more," he said absently, returning to the hole in the wall. He rummaged through again before pulling out another white, fluffy shirt. When he was dressed and ready, he packed his supplies back into the hole and moved the old couch frame back into its place. "Should we rest here, or head back to the Strahl?"

"We left it cloaked and moored outside the Sochen Cave, did we not? It's fairly close. I think we should go to it and rest there-"

She cut off as an unfamiliar shuffling sound reached them behind the curtain, out in the alleyway. Balthier shot her a grim, knowing look and she knew he heard it too. " _Someone followed us here_." She nodded and smoothly lifted herself to her feet. She gently tip-toed over to the door, step by careful step, her lithe figure making no noise on the dirt floor. They heard the shuffling sound again, two, three times, getting closer and closer each time, and as Fran reached the wall next to the curtain she flattened herself there, waiting for the guard to come barreling through. Balthier moved to cross the room as well, but she motioned for him to stop.

The shadow of a hand reached out. It grabbed the curtain. Pulled it an inch away from the doorway.

Fran lunged at him before he had the chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently playing FFXII: The Zodiac Age, so I'm in the ZONE for this fic right now! I hope my energy keeps up!
> 
> Don't forget to leave a comment if you have the time! Or, if you have the time, stop by my Curious Cat profile and ask me anything about Legends Yet!  
> https://curiouscat.me/Keyblader41996
> 
> ~Keyblader


	4. Chapter 4

Balthier moved to draw his pistol, but he never got the chance. Faster than his eyes could follow, Fran struck like a snake. She clamped her hand down on their attacker's wrist. She tugged the man forward, nearly off his feet. He was launched through the curtain and Fran twisted his right arm behind him on his way past. She reached around and pinned his left arm in place in a tight bear hug.

Then she put the knife to his throat.

"Wait, wait, WAIT! Wait, wait," he babbled. "Wait, wait! Come now, no need for tha'!" He lifted his chin at the cold touch of the metal, but Fran was unrelenting. She tilted the blade so the point jabbed into the soft flesh under his jawbone, ready to draw across. "Easy, now! Eeeeasy," he soothed, raising his hands as much as he could to show he was unarmed. He swallowed hard and his adam's apple bobbed, eyes wide with fear.

Balthier knew the voice and the face, but it took him a tough moment of memory searching to place either one.

"Ugh," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Jules."

"At yer service!" he said, voice pinched and tight with the knife threatening him. "I'm pleased you remember me!"

"Oh," he sighed with false amiability, "and how could I forget the man who landed us  _both_ in prison for three counts of first degree defrauding?"

" . . . We got out," he defended lamely.

"Yes, because I know how to slip cuffs and pick locks. I told you then that you owed me."

Jules squirmed and his face scrunched up into a wince, though whether it was at Fran's threatening knife or Balthier's suggestion of a debt, he couldn't tell. "Water under the bridge, eh?" Jules mumbled, then froze when Fran held him still and repositioned the knife. "Okay, okay. Think you can let me go?" His uneducated Archadian accent made the 'th' sound come out as an 'f'. Fran gripped him tighter and met Balthier's gaze. Met with silence, Jules' eyebrows came together in a pathetic-looking plea. "Tell 'er to let me go!"

"It figures  _you_ would follow us," Balthier said, rolling over Jules. "Trouble follows you more closely than your own shadow. What did you do, bring the guard with you? Going to sell us out for Gil, hm?"

"W-wot?" Jules cried. He shook his head, feigning insult until Fran gently shook him. "I would never!"

"Really?" Balthier deadpanned.

"Really! Would I sell out the man what got me out of jail?"

"Based on what I know about you, you'd sell your own mother for a pretty penny. Three counts of defrauding, remember?"

"Not this time! Promise!"

Jules' blubbering didn't nearly convince Balthier, and he had half a mind to tell Fran to do them all a favor and slit his throat right there. Luckily, Fran saved Jules. She shoved him away roughly and he tripped on some debris in the shabby home, sprawling out on his face.

"He is truthful," she said.

Jules scrambled upright and rubbed his throat, staring warily between Balthier and Fran. "I din't bring no guard. I swear it."

"Perhaps not purposefully. Were you followed?"

"No! Not that I know of. Not at all."

"If not to sell us out, then, why did you follow us? What do you want from me this time?"

"Why you so cagey, huh? I din't do nothin' to you!"

"Not today."

"Alright, alright. I followed you because I saw you and wanted to talk. There's a lot of exciting information going around right now. Here's what happened: I had just heard that Ffamran Bunansa's been spotted in the city proper. When I heard, I says, 'That's curious! I know Ffamran, and he din't leave the city on good terms last time I saw him. Why would he come back?' I was walking round the Commons thinkin' bout it, and I saw youse. And I says to myself, I says, 'That man right there looks a lot like him! In fact, it is him! I should ask him what 'e's up to!' That's all!"

Balthier lifted an eyebrow and shared a skeptical glance with Fran, mostly to make Jules squirm. The man caught their look and threw his hands up again, palm out. "I swears it, that's the truth of it!"

"Is that so? If you weren't spying on him, how did you hear that Ffamran was spotted considering he was only spotted a mere hour ago, if that?"

"What did I always say about having sources? Friends in high places? Gossip is the way into Archadia, and all that? I've got a lot of eyes and ears open for me."

"I'm sure." Balthier wasn't sure just how large Jules' network of connections was, but he knew it was large. He always knew the latest gossip, from the whispers in the servant's quarters to inside info that only officials of the palace would know. He was just short of having an ear in the Emperor's chamber himself. "What's the bounty on Ffamran Mied Bunansa's head these days?"

"A lotta Gil. Dr. Cid just raised it to 50,000 Gil."

"It's hard to believe that after all this time they're still looking for him. Doesn't the Empire have more important things to worry about?"

"Oh, this ain't the Empire. This is Dr. Cid's personal bounty."

"Ah. So Ffamran isn't public enemy number one?"

"Not at all," Jules said. "That Balthier and his Viera partner are blowing Ffamran out of the water, with an Imperial bounty just reaching six digits. Supposedly, 'e was a noble too, and left with big secrets."

"Balthier has some notoriety, then."

"Undoubtedly! Everybody knows at least some of Balthier and Fran's exploits. They've recently stirred up some trouble - I think they were spotted today as well!" Jules bubbled. "Did you know they stole a skyferry only today! Surrounded by ten fully armed guards!" Jules offered him a pointed stare, clearly asking the question without coming right out with it. Balthier nodded the unspoken confirmation, not bothering to correct the embellishments. If Jules spread a story like that, their infamy would only grow. Jules stared at him with what looked like approval and fascination that brought a smile to Balthier's face before he could stop it to maintain their serious façade.

"Oh, but you won't cash in?" Balthier asked, suddenly serious again. He stared hard back at Jules, hoping he put enough of a threat into that double sentence. "Two bounties, totaling 150,000 Gil. That's a lot of money."

"It is," Jules agreed. Suddenly the spark of an idea lit up in his eyes. He smirked a greasy grin and shifted his weight, attempting to seem nonchallant. "Well,  _maybe_ I've thought about it." Even his voice took on the low, smooth tone of a negotiator. "Now that I think about it, Ffamran's my friend but I don't owe Balthier nothin'."

Balthier cursed his tongue, hoping he didn't give Jules the idea. If there was a single chance Jules could capitalize on something he absolutely would. He quickly noted the door behind Fran and the windows - any quick escape routes - and a chill ran down his spine as he realized they may have to run again. He met eyes with Fran and she noted the change in his body language. She changed her stance, half-turned to the door and ready to bolt.

"But maaaaybe I din't see nothin', if someone makes it worth my while to have not," Jules continued, giving Balthier a pointed look.

Balthier sighed tiredly. "There's the Jules I know. Couldn't pass it up, could you?" Jules shrugged, waiting expectantly for Balthier's answer. "What currency?" Balthier asked. "Coin, or info?"

"Info."

"Alright, then. What do you want to know?"

"What were you two looking for? Sneaking into the palace like that was a suicide mission."

"Of course it was! Which is why we're still standing here." Balthier said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. He and Fran had been looking for a statue belonging to the first elected Archadian emperor. Made of sterling tanzanite, the material alone would fetch a price large enough to entertain them for a good, long while. That, and it was said to be enchanted, inscribed with superior Lunar Runes. Fran had wanted to sit on it for a while after they acquired it, if only to add more items and treasure to their growing hoard, but Balthier had plans to ransom the priceless artifact back to the Empire and sit on the mountain of gold it would earn them.

Jules, however, did not need to know that.

"Nothing in particular," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "I know the Solidors sit on a lot of treasure, and there's no better pleasure for me than sticking it to all of them and to my old man. Why do you ask?"

"I just thought maybe you were going after the new items that shipped today."

"What items?"

"Mmm . . . I don't know . . . " he trailed off, giving Balthier another long, pointed glance. Balthier rolled his eyes.

"What more do you want for the information? Last time I checked, you owe me. Prison breaks aren't easy for people with a list of crimes as long as yours."

Jules crossed his arms and thought about it. "Hmmm . . . Alright, I guess. Nothin' this time, but consider us even." He leaned in like he was about to share a deep, dark secret. "My people close to Draklor told me that something new, something big, and something powerful shipped from the Dalmascan Westersands. It's got everyone at Draklor buzzing. Especially Dr. Cid."

Balthier had been interested until Jules mentioned his father. He snorted. "Well, it's probably nethecite," he spat. "What is it? A weapon? A stone? It has to be something sustantial to have him so excited."

Jules shrugged. "That, I honestly don't know. Dr. Cid's the only one who's been looking at it in secret since it came. But whatever it is, it's big."

Balthier scoffed. "What kind of lead is that? You don't know what it is?"

"Look, I've got good informants but they're not always  _that_ good. If it's important, it's always under wraps."

He turned to Fran. "Perhaps that's why getting into the palace was so hard this time. Maybe they have it heavily guarded."

She tilted her head. ' _Perhaps_ ', the gesture said, and Balthier turned back to Jules. "Is it expensive?"

He nodded enthusiastically, like a child. "Most definitely! More like priceless!" Balthier decided he was interested again. "My contact got a brief glance at it during the transport. She said she saw writing on it that looked old enough to be from the Dynast King's era. It glowed with energy, and looked to be made of some kind of crystal."

He looked to Fran again. "Priceless," he repeated, and Fran averted her gaze. That was a no from her, but he was already picturing it in his head. Stealing a priceless, potentially nethecitic item from Draklor,  _right under_ Dr. Cid's nose. They could stop Draklor's entire operations for several days. They had all Draklor's interests in their hands, and if they sold it back to Dr. Cid, the rewards would be substantial. Or, they could keep it. If it was a weapon and it was powerful, then it couldn't hurt to keep it for themselves.

"If one was going to . . . procure such an item, how do you think they'd go about it?" he asked Fran, but Jules answered him.

"They're planning a party, from what I hear. That's when I'd do it, when everyone's distracted."

"What kind of party?" Balthier asked. "City wide, or exclusive?"

"Exclusive. It's the littlest Solidor brat's name day party. Only those with papers."

" . . . So we'd have to sneak in," he said to Fran. "And we couldn't be seen at  _all_."

Jules interrupted again. "Not if you had papers."

"Jules, please," Balthier said, and addressed Fran again. "I say we go for it. This would be such a blow to Draklor and Dr. Cid if it is nethecite, and a blow to the Empire to lose such a priceless artifact."

"I am not fond of entering a den of poisonous snakes when we have no Antidotes."

"If that was another one of your Vieran proverbs, my dear, you'll have to forgive me-"

"I do not want to walk into a situation knowing we are at a disadvantage, only to deal a petty blow to your father and former station. There will be more than double the guard at this party. This artifact will be heavily guarded as well."

"But think of the  _prize_ we would gain! It's not just about Archadia, it's about us! The treasure! The Gil! Balthier and Fran steal another prize from right under the Empire's nose! Think of what it would do for our reputation."

"No. It is too dangerous."

" . . . Not if you got some papers," Jules said. "You could pose as party guests, slip right in with no problem. Go snooping - with some normal sneaking, of course, but I know you're good at that," he purred coyly, attempting to soften Balthier to him. "You want some? I can get those forged in no time at all."

"They would be nice," Balthier said softly, but considered the possibility of being indebted to Jules. No doubt he would come to cash in at the most inopportune times. Still, if they got the artifact and sold it for a price, he might accept a modest cut as payment. "When is the party?"

"Two days from now."

" . . . How much would you want for them?"

"Hmmm . . . I'd say . . . for a forged invitation, forged papers of nobility, forged seal of the Emperor . . . " He sucked in a breath through his teeth. "I'd say . . . 75,000 Gil."

Balthier knew they already had well beyond that sitting in a secret compartment on the Strahl, and giving it to Jules wouldn't even make a dent in their treasury, but he wasn't eager to give Jules anything. Balthier met eyes with Fran, hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of his pants and shifting his weight. He knew she would know how to haggle it down. Few could withstand her over powering, intense gaze when she tried to negotiate and was unhappy with the price.

Fran didn't bother offering a counter price. She huffed softly. "Hm. Have a good day," she said, and turned on her heels and strutted for the curtain.

"Right. Bye," Balthier said lightly, stepping after her.

"Wait, wait, wait! I'll give you a lower price! How about . . . 25,000! I'll skip all the bartering and go low for you! A friend discount!"

Balthier immediately accepted, knowing that was as low as Jules would go anyway. "Deal. We are not friends. I'll meet you at the Jaded Jester tavern at midday, two days from now."

"Alright! But you owe me now," Jules said, pointing at Balthier.

"I do not!" he said back incredulously. "I'm  _paying_ you for this!"

"Fine, fine. See you then."

"Let's go, Fran. Wait at least ten minutes before you follow us out, please. I don't feel like being caught because of you today."

They ducked under the curtain and left the small hut, walking quickly for the Sochen Cave Palace, where they left the Strahl moored in Tchita.

"I do not think that we should do this," Fran said.

"You didn't exactly object when we negotiated the price," he told her.

"I know by now that you will do whatever you like anyway. I only follow because I know you are useless without me."

"Ouch. I appreciate your confidence in me."

"Balthier," she said seriously. More seriously than she usually says things, but he didn't turn to look at her. "This is because of a grudge. It will end poorly, I can assure you."

"I already told you there are more reasons for it. It'll be fine, Fran! We've done far more dangerous things before!"

She didn't say anything more after that, and they were silent as they slipped through the rest of Old Archades, fought their way through the Sochen Cave Palace, and boarded the Strahl. Balthier walked down the hallway into the 'bedroom', a large cabin that they built a bed for themselves in, and flopped face down on top of the covers, not even bothering to clean himself up. He was tired from running, tired from dealing with Jules, and tired from piloting their escape while wounded. His arm still ached gently, but he couldn't bother with it. It wasn't bad enough for him to care.

"Uuugh," he sighed. "I'm going right to bed. We'll talk more about this tomorrow."

In her Fran way, she didn't answer, and Balthier knew he'd have some convincing to do. Some convincing, and some preparations. Already he was thinking about this party. How they would get in, how they would act, and what they would wear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's me again! I love playing the Zodiac Age! It's reminding me of why I fell in love with XII in the first place!
> 
> Leave a comment if you have the time, or stop by my Curious Cat and ask me anything about Legends Yet! curiouscat.me/keyblader41996!


	5. Chapter 5

When Fran awoke the next day, Balthier was already gone. His half of the bed had been properly and meticulously made, with the extravagant furs they took from a Dalmascan cargo ship a few months ago laid over top. She frowned over the fact that she hadn't woken up. Her senses were so developed that normally, the slightest sound from him was enough to rouse her. The events of the previous day had truly exhausted her.

Fran dressed and busied herself around the Strahl to wait for his return. She lay on the floor of the cockpit and squeezed herself beneath the dashboard and control panel to check all the electronic connections she could get to, making sure they weren't damaged. She inspected the frames of the glossair rings to ensure they could fly properly. They were menial tasks, and things she already knew were fully operational. So when she was finished she went to work plotting their meaningless course away from the city that she knew they wouldn't take before she heard the jaunty sound of Balthier's swaggering footfalls approaching the Strahl. He opened the doors and pounded down the Strahl's hallway, straight to the cockpit.

"Turn around and close your eyes."

She was already facing away from the door, so she stopped where she was. "For what?"

"If I told you, it would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?"

She felt a rush of air behind her, and heard the soft scratch of rubbing fabric. "It sounds like a dress."

" _Tsk_! Fraaaan," he whined. "You ruined it."

She decided that was her cue to turn around. She saw a wine colored dress with a full ball-gown skirt made of tulle. The top sported an extremely low neckline, and she could tell by the full-length lace sleeves that they were meant to fall off her shoulders. She lifted her eyebrows in the obvious question - a normal unspoken gesture that he could understand all too well by then.

"Yes, a dress. If we're going to infiltrate a high-end Archadian party, then we need to look the part. Put it on."

She reached out and grabbed a bit of the fluffy tulle, rubbing it between her fingers. She lifted one of the sleeves with her other hand, inspecting the beading on the lace. It reminded her of a decoration - something fine used in some of the most the low-end taverns they frequented to give the illusion of grandeur.

". . . It looks like a tablecloth."

"It's highest Archadian fashion," he said flatly. "And expensive." He didn't exactly object.

"Fine, it is a nice tablecloth," she remedied. "Help me put the tablecloth on." She turned around and he started to undo the corset that was her armor. As soon as he had it loose enough, she slid it down and stepped out of it, keeping herself turned away from him. He gathered all the excess fabric up and looped his arm through, then when she was ready he threw it all overtop of her, taking care to avoid her ears.

It was heavy - ridiculously so. When the fabric crashed down around her, her knees bent to accommodate all the tulle. Fran pushed both her arms through the sleeves and slid the body of the dress down until it sat where it was supposed to. It fit well off her shoulders, and the lace sleeves' taper sat perfectly on the back of her hands. A dangerous amount of cleavage peeked overtop of the neckline, but she supposed that was the point.

"Beautiful!" Balthier yelled. "Look at you, Fran."

"The tablecloth fits well."

"Indeed it does. I had it fitted."

"Why am I to wear the tablecloth?"

"Because when we look the part at this party, we will fade into the background. They won't notice us sneaking off."

"You forget that I want no parts of this."

Balthier's smile slipped, and his lip jutted out in a childish pout for a moment before he remembered himself. "I thought you agreed after we discussed it with Jules."

"I agreed to nothing. I simply assisted you in bargaining for the tools that you will need when _you_ attempt what it is you are doing. I warned you that it will not end well for you."

"You can't tell me that after all we've been through in three years of partnership you don't want to take this one on - after all the places we've infiltrated, all that we've _stolen,_ all that we've  _smuggled_ , all that we've done to make a name for ourselves, and all of it done  _together_ -"

"Your passion will not sway me."

"Then just tell me why. Why _not_ this plan? Why  _not_ this infiltration, or this theft?"

Fran rubbed her hands along the fabric of the dress. "Ffamran," she said, and he winced at the use of his birth name. "It is Ffamran who wants this, not Balthier. Ffamran is not my partner. Balthier is."

"How incredibly poetic, darling," he said, but his tone went flat, his theatrics deflated. "Jules used that logic to threaten us yesterday."

Fran ignored his comparison to Jules. He was only trying to force her to deny the similarity, and hopefully lead her off-topic. "We can go anywhere on the map for treasures that equate to this unknown artifact at Draklor. We could go to Bhujerba and loot the temples. We could hunt in Dalmasca for the legends there. But you would stay and risk yourself because Ffamran wants closure-"

"Closure!" Balthier barked. "I would sooner befriend a Demon Wall than receive closure from Cidolfus Demen Bunansa."

"Satisfaction, then. The knowledge that despite all of his efforts, you were able to break free of his grasp and forge success in your terms, not in his. This would be the chance to show him your version of success, and laugh while you do it."

Balthier sighed, shaking his head, and was silent for a long while. He turned away from her and stared out the windshield of the Strahl, eyes roving across the Tchita Plains rolling before them. "How do you do that?"

Fran didn't know what he meant, so she stayed silent.

"How do you always know the right thing to say? How do you sift through all that wisdom you possess, and manage to pick the right thing? You're right, of course, and I hate it."

"Humes are . . . " she started, but wasn't sure how to finish. The irony wasn't lost on her. Instead, she settled on their version of a joke. " _Leteaross_ ," she said in Woodland, ' _Little Treant'_ , the golems of Golmore Jungle that lay docile and dormant until something they wanted - sunlight, water, territory, protection - caught their eye and drove them to move. If Balthier understood the symbolism, the Treant was a species only given life recently, when Archadian scientists began destroying the forests of the world and digging in search of Nethecite. He was only sixteen when Balthier's father lost himself to madness, and when he decided to run. " _Leteaross, Thi Xiux arkol dhek noi._ " ' _The Wood is older than you_.'

" _E zifo ru rousa_ ," he said in response. ' _I know it to be true_.' "How do you say, 'Is it too late to beg for your help?'"

"Your Woodland accent is atrocious."

"How can you pass that up?" he asked, staring at her incredulously. "The Great Balthier, offering himself to humility, and all you can comment on is my terrible Woodland accent. Which, I thought, had been getting better! What would it take to convince you to help me with this? I need you."

"You do not need me."

"We're partners! Sure, I make the decisions, but . . . We're supposed to do everything together! We're Balthier and Fran! And I already bought the dress!"

As she told him before, she was more than sure he would do it whether or not she agreed to. The years he spent raised in the palace did little for his aversion to the word 'no'. She learned quickly into their partnership that she had a choice to make. She could either accompany him on these ill-conceived heists from the very beginning and prevent many things from going wrong for him, or she could burst into them later and rescue him from whatever had already gone wrong for him. In the end, he always managed to get what he wanted from those around him, despite the strength of the objections they gave him.

Fran shook out her hair. Another dismissive gesture she knew he would understand. "When people see a well-dressed Hume and a Viera on his arm wearing a beautiful tablecloth at this party, they will wonder who we are. We will be closely watched."

He stared hard at her, analyzing the hidden yes in her response. His face lit up and he threw his head back. "Yes!" he yelled. "Thank you, Fran! Ah, you act as if I've never pulled off a heist with a beautiful Viera on my arm before. I'm Archadian, so I've got the social tact to navigate the party. I'm the best sky pirate in the business, so I've got the stealth to pull of the heist. You've got all the natural graces inherent in the Viera so you'll be fine, and a sky pirate couldn't ask for a better first mate than you. This is going to work. I want that treasure, Fran."

He was too confident. Fran stared down at him and made sure she told him that with her gaze. Used to it by now, Balthier faced the ferocity unwavering. Fine. If he wanted to try it, she supposed they could. No doubt he was already planning a Successful Escape Route and a Failed Escape Route. He already knew the palace, after all.

"If I am to wear the tablecloth, then what are you to wear?"

"A ha! I'm glad you asked." Balthier left the cockpit, and traveled to the back of the Strahl, to the bedroom. Fran could hear him rummaging through some belongings. She went to follow him, but the tulle skirt refused to lift with just her leg. Fran stepped on it and was nearly pulled to the floor.

She muttered a quick curse in the Woodland tongue and clutched fistfulls of the skirt, hoisting it up above her ankles. She followed Balthier and watched as he pulled out a black military-style jacket with white stitched accents. There was a deep red sash, stretching from his right shoulder to his left hip. "If you must play the part, my dear Fran, as must I."

"The red matches the tablecloth."

"Yes. It's a sign of prestige along with fashion." Balthier unclasped all of the stitching around the buttons and unzipped the jacket, slipping it on over his white shirt. "I'll strap the ceremonial sword we have to my two belts, and I was going to get black boots the next time we went out." Balthier redid the buttons and rolled his shoulders once the jacket was on. "What do you think?"

It was tight across his body, and emphasized the contours of his chest and arms. Paired with his tight pants and knee-high boots, and he would look as ravishing as she knew she looked. "Handsome," she approved.

"It earned a Fran compliment, so it must be good," Balthier said. He shed the jacket and walked back down the hall to hang it back up.

"How do I get the tablecloth off?" Fran asked. "Can I throw it over my head?"

"That's how I would do it - if I wore a dress," he added quickly, as though it would imply that he had. Fran decided to tease him for the slip.

"'If?'"

"Don't!" he called. "I knew my mistake the moment I said it!"

Fran dragged the fabric over her head, hissing when the rough sequins scraped against her ears. She rolled the dress over her arm, flattening it down as much as it would go. Throwing the bundle on one of the seats, she stepped back into her corset-like armor. When she was ready to have Balthier lace up the back, she left the cockpit and walked back to their bedroom to find him already changed.

She turned, and without a word he began tying the laces.

"I assume you already have some semblance of a plan in mind," she said.

"No, actually," he said. "I thought to run into the Palace through the front doors and loudly demand that everyone surrender their wares."

Fran rolled her shoulders in acknowledgment of his sarcastic bite. She waited for the remedy, the explanation of his real idea, but he held off, finishing the lacing in silence. It was a deliberate gesture, making her wait. Building anticipation around the real plan, making it seem grander than it was. Balthier finished the lacing and gave her shoulders a pat to let her know he was done. She spun and stared hard at him.

He paused, meeting her eyes, but behind the smug, cocky tilt of his head and the quirk of his brow she learned to ignore, she saw genuine fear there. If she wanted to look deeper, she could've pinpointed it to his fear of her rejection, the only one who hadn't placed any kind of expectation on him, unlike those he ran from. It could have been a fear of looking incompetent when he felt he had so much to prove to her. He winced and she realized she had been staring. He turned away, and she thought he would back down and refuse to tell her his plan.

If he had a plan at all.

"Balthier," she said.

"I don't know yet," he admitted. "I don't have any details. But I'm working on it," he said quickly.

She knew he was. And he would work on it, until he _felt_ there wasn't a single thing he hadn't planned for.

As the Viera said, ' _One learns she can only lament the blows that Fate deals_.' It was a way the Humes said that Fate was fickle. You couldn't control it, and all you could do was brace for it. If Fate could find a way to destroy plans, it would. Balthier liked to argue that point with instances like yesterday - that no matter what, with his quick-thinking and skills, he could find his own way out of anything. But she'd rather avoid a situation entirely where the odds weren't even.

Though, she supposed, they _were_ Balthier and Fran. They hadn't cemented their reputation by avoiding the risk of failure. And, if she was honest, her own plan to steal the Strahl three years ago hadn't been entirely fleshed out.

"Fran," he said at her frown of distaste, mistaking her look as being directed at him. "I've never been one for the uprght, morally respectable life of a Judge Magister. I've always had a flair for the . . . less than legal. I've stolen more from the Empire than I could begin to guess, just because I could and because it was fun inconveniencing those around me. I used to read and study the Archadian Code of Law like they told me, but only to find its loopholes. I have an eye for the opportune and a talent for escape. You know this."

She did.

"So if there's one thing I've learned in my short tenure in this life, and in my infinite wisdom, it's that the best way to steal a man's gold is to tell him you're going to steal his silver."

" . . . You weren't jesting about the front door, were you?" she sighed, understanding his point.

"Only slightly. See, everyone knows who Balthier and Fran are, but no one knows what they look like. Balthier _would_ waltz through the front door like he owned the place. He would make an entrance and suavely demand things of people - at least his reputation would. So that's exactly what  _Balthier_ will do."

"So we spread the word that Balthier and Fran will make an entrance. Their plans to sneak in will leak out and have the guards on high alert. While all eyes are on 'Balthier and Fran' and when they will arrive, we slip in with Jules's papers."

"Exactly. No one will be looking at a couple low-ranking nobles wtih papers. Not closely, anyway. They'll be looking for Balthier and Fran, or for anyone trying to pull something, because we're going to tell them someone's trying to pull something."

" . . . The logic is sound. But how do you plan to spread word that quickly? The party is tomorrow night."

Balthier's eyes flicked over her head, thinking through it. Then he made another face. "I may actually _owe_ Jules soon. I'm picking his papers up tomorrow morning. I'll ask him to spread the word around is network then. It will be around the entirety of Upper Archadia before midday."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got this weird burst of inspiration to write the next couple chapters of this. I'm certainly not complaining!
> 
> Thanks to all who have read this story up to this point!  
> ~Keyblader


End file.
